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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480077">Renegade</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCandyness/pseuds/QueenCandyness'>QueenCandyness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>League of Legends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fire Magic, League of Legends - Freeform, Multi, Reader is a mage, Scarecrow - Freeform, Yandere, also i never played the game i just watched the cinematic, reworked fiddlesticks, they suck at using magic tho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:55:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480077</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCandyness/pseuds/QueenCandyness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The supernatural is a norm in your world, everywhere besides Demacia. It is a kingdom that shuns those that are beyond their realm of knowledge. They harbored so much hatred that they became renowned in telling folklore to scare future generations. Fiddlesticks -- a myth that only lived in the mind. He was just an imaginary scarecrow that feasted on wandering souls. With guard patrols missing and plaguing nightmares, you weren't certain if he was nothing more than a telltale.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fiddlesticks/Reader, Fiddlesticks/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Renegade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Incessant rain pounded the fragile windows, begging for entry. Howling from thunderous claps in the sky accompanied the fierce storm, still yet shy to make a proper entrance. The wispy darkness that swallowed the stars reduced the effectiveness of the candles; they dimly shone in the house, swaying timidly after the explosion of each raindrop. Occasionally, the breeze would start to whistle, allowing a stray branch from the cherry tree to knock hesitantly on the rear window, as if someone was tapping on a nonexistent backdoor. Closing your eyes, you concentrated on the scent of oaken bark from the logs, which held a twinge of dampness from being retrieved near a locust pond outside your kingdom -- Demacia.</p>
<p>You sucked in a breath.</p>
<p>Sleep was very insistent on evading you. Under your tired eyes laid visual evidence of a dark outline that stretched like a crescent moon -- dark before gradually fading into the color of your skin. Even if a slumber tempted you, you remained firm in your belief of avoiding it. The nightmares that plagued your mind never ceased, and the best way to stop it was to not sleep. Recalling your nightmares proved to be a difficult task, as all you could remember were dark amalgamations of colors and sceneries clashing that left you breathless in a cold sweat. It was a blessing to forget them for your sanity; after all, those nightmares could have contained highly disturbing content.</p>
<p>A breath parted from your lips, feeling a portion of your layered emotions of stress and weariness escape. If only it were that simple to unwind.</p>
<p>Flashes of beige whirred past your squinting eyes. Instinctively, you let out a mild groan as you involuntarily whiffed the sharp perfume, reclining back into the cushion of the old, musty green chair. Creaking at your slight movement, it managed to catch the attention of the woman rather than your noise of displeasure. You noted the creased brows that furrowed at you, her beige tunic crinkled at her sudden halt.</p>
<p>She called your name in a firm tone, reeling you from your dismay. “I asked you to start the fire some time ago! It’s freezing -- do you want to eat dinner in a cold room?” she eyed you intensely, forcing you to wince.</p>
<p>“Well, it kind of slipped my mind…?” your voice trailed off, and all you heard was an angry huff before she started to lay her hands on the logs.</p>
<p>Marcie. That’s what you called her. Marceline felt too long for you, especially since no one referred to her by her formal name. She is a woman who is five years older than you, and she treated you like a sibling ever since your mother let you play with her next-door. However, you were in Marcie’s house, not yours. You sold your own house to a member of the king’s court because of desperate financial needs. You held no title nor job to sustain yourself, so the generous sum that you gained was to fulfill your basic accommodations -- and to help Marcie.</p>
<p>“You didn’t sleep last night. No wonder your mind is so amiss.” Marcie’s voice intruded your wandering thoughts and you shook your head.</p>
<p>A shrill caw from a crow boomed overhead, silencing the raging storm for a mere second. The fact that a lone bird is strong enough to withstand the bullets of raindrops on its wings made you arch a brow, but you quickly dismissed it. “I keep seeing him, Marcie. I don’t know what to do.” A frown occupied her face. “Whenever I stare outside on a calm night, I swear I see him -- those red eyes that stare from the abyss. And if I don’t see him, I hear his limp arm dragging itself across the ground. I can’t close my eyes knowing that he’s out there.”</p>
<p>For the first time, there was a pregnant silence. The noises from the outside world have numbed into white noise that fumbled in your ears, and Marcie’s calloused fingers were suspended a mere inch from the furled bark. Guilt coiled around your heart, snaking its way into your throat. The nightmares, the visions -- they were all about him. Sometimes a low melody would start playing, and you frantically searched to end the music but it haunted you wherever you went. If someone from the Church or king's court were to realize who you were speaking of, they’d exile you immediately -- for that and multitude of other reasons.</p>
<p>Fortunately, Marcie was not closely affiliated with either of them. She is a lowly merchant who sold very limited items such as cherries and parchment; she sold as many as her nimble arms could carry. Still, the coins she made could only afford basic necessities, and with you around it’s nearly impossible to hoard any leftovers.</p>
<p>She drew a long sigh before pursing her lips, “There is no such thing as Fiddlesticks.”</p>
<p>With an iron grip, she placed a log in the fireplace, tilting it at a strange angle before grabbing the next log.</p>
<p>Your nails dug into the armrest, prompting new wounds on the senile chair. Any retort you came up with died at the tip of your tongue as she continued shoving logs twice her weight into a small fireplace, her heavy panting increasing with each struggle. Before you could lift a finger to help her, she sluggishly threw in the last log before wiping her hands, a splinter or two falling to the wooden floor. “Help me,” she rubbed her temple with her knuckles, catching any stray beads of sweat, “start the fire.”</p>
<p>Finally, you stood and stretched every sore muscle that strained your body before crouching in front of the logs. You lift an open hand, channeling magic through your veins as if reawakening an ancient power. Suddenly, a spark emitted from your palm, making you curse under your breath. It left a singed spot on your flesh -- a smidgen of raw pink. You stretched your hand closer, concentrating once more to produce a stronger burst. With a gasp, you distanced yourself as a larger ball of flame shot out and kindled the logs. The crackling of the newfound fire managed to drown out the bellowing storm.</p>
<p>That was another reason for your exile.</p>
<p>You are a mage, and no one in Demacia liked one. They were portrayed as evil through the many stories that are passed around orally from generations within the kingdom. It’s not like you possessed a grand power; you could only channel flames -- incredibly small ones. If you were to try and train on your own, you’d set fire to your own house if you still had one. A flashy power like yours would not go unnoticed in a kingdom that’s constantly on edge from inner and outer turmoil.</p>
<p>As the flames flickered, you heard Marcie retrieve ceramic plates from the kitchen and placed them on a nearby coffee table. The smell of mashed potatoes suddenly became tantalizing to you and it unconsciously drove your body towards it. Same old food, with a side of freshly picked radishes.</p>
<p>Marcie sat across you, her eyes engrossed by the food. She gently picked up her spoon and ate at a slow pace. You, on the other hand, anxiously dug your spoon in the clump and forced the food down your throat.</p>
<p>"I'm telling you, Marcie. He's real," you start, eyes boring into your plate, but you sensed her posture tense.</p>
<p>"Yes, yes. We've all been told that when we were kids," she continues eating but you pressed on.</p>
<p>"Can you tell me the tale?"</p>
<p>She offered you a questioning look, "I thought that after pestering me about seeing him, you would know who Fiddlesticks is."</p>
<p>The heat of humiliation crawled up the back of your neck, "I've only heard of him whenever I roam around near the kids. They kept threatening each other with his name but they never explained who he is."</p>
<p>"Well, color me shocked," she wiped the corner of her lips with a napkin, "I suppose I can tell you, but I fear it will only incite more nightmares for you. If you can handle it," she shot you a smug face.</p>
<p>Your eyebrow twitched at her expression, "Maybe it will put them to rest instead. But please, do tell."</p>
<p>"Of course," she dropped her spoon in the bowl, clasping her fingers. The shadows on her face along with the dim light really enhanced her story-telling visage. "Fiddlesticks is a tale told to naughty children -- misbehave and he’s out for your blood. He's a scarecrow with many arms; he even holds a scythe in one hand, and a dim lantern in another."</p>
<p>She spoke in such a low tone that the hair on your skin became suspended, now remembering certain features of him. Marcie continued, her hands resting under her chin, "But that's not the worst part about him. He can speak," she paused for dramatic effect, but you were already sweating bullets. "He stalks around Demacia with a murder of crows circling around him. That's why seeing a crow is considered bad luck here; they take part in the feasting of Fiddlesticks's victims."</p>
<p>"Crows?"</p>
<p>"Yes," she deadpanned, "Usually whenever you see a large presence of crows, that means Fiddlesticks is nearby. Forgot to mention -- he also has his head shaped more like a bird skull, I guess resembling a crow's."</p>
<p>You remembered clearly now -- the crows. Gods, no.</p>
<p>"He mimics the voices of his victims, usually their last words or their fears." Marcie was getting too into the tale, her eyes were set on you but they were clouded with visions of her story.</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"To lure you in."</p>
<p>The thunder roars after her words, the clapping of thunder and whistling breezes cry out fiercely in a battle for dominance. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a shadow blur across the window. Something was left behind on the windowsill, but you were too nervous to focus on that. Her tale was making your thoughts spiral out of control.</p>
<p>Marcie began to feed herself after the tense silence, and you barely missed her curses at how the food already went cold. "That's the version I was told by my parents," she paused before shoving a spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth, "When I went to school with the other kids, they had parents of different professions. Sailors would say Fiddlesticks was a haywire invention made in a lighthouse by a rogue mage."</p>
<p>She stopped when she saw you wince at the end, realizing her mistake, but continued nonetheless, "Farmers have said that Fiddlesticks owns the cornstalks, and any lovers that secretly trespassed into the fields were never heard from again."</p>
<p>You poked at your almost full bowl of food, suddenly losing your appetite. Your gaze blurred as you disassociated, "So, what exactly is Fiddlesticks?"</p>
<p>"Depends on who you ask. My parents told me that an innocent man's soul was stuck inside a scarecrow, and now he reaps other souls out of spite." Her voice dipped low, "Fiddlesticks is an old tale, so of course there's going to be many versions of it. Just proves that there's no way he can exist."</p>
<p>"But Marcie," you instinctively lower your gaze to your thighs, a flush of red spreading across your cheeks in shame, "I've met him before."</p>
<p>You heard a sharp clink on the wooden boards of the floor, the sound of an instrument. Promptly, you shyly glanced at Marcie, who's hand was suspended in a position where she should be holding a spoon. Her eyebrows creased and her lips tugged into a massive frown. It was a picture that could haunt your mind if Fiddlesticks hadn't already occupied it.</p>
<p>"I think you really lost it."</p>
<p>You shook your head desperately, "No, no. Please believe me!" you pleaded, though she still shot you an unconvinced glare. "I'll tell you -- I remember it almost clearly now. It was when I was little."</p>
<p>You almost ran out of your own breath, and you found yourself gasping for more. She gave no response, instead, she sat patiently. Her visage made you more anxious than you needed to be. Slowly inhaling much-needed air, you began your tale.</p>
<p>_____________________________</p>
<p>It was a cool summer morning in the kingdom of Demacia. The aroma of freshly baked pie lingered in the alleyways, creeping into poor neighborhoods like yours. An old woman who lived nearby would awaken earlier than the rest, and journeyed her way to her food stand before ringing her bell to signal a new day. It was still rather early; the clear night gradually crept to announce the arrival of the sun. Until then, you awoke with a burst of energy, grasped the spare change on the table, and flurried out the door before your mother could even get out of bed.</p>
<p>The tunic you wore was much too large on your small body, practically tearing and getting snagged by its hem over the most inconvenient obstacles. Though months have passed ever since you wore it religiously, it still held a twinge of your father’s musk smell. Your family couldn’t afford to get you a new attire, and your father is a soldier who is always posted somewhere overseas, so your mother wanted to make use of his untarnished clothes.</p>
<p>Your lungs were fuming, both the sprinting and the weight of the tunic wearing you down. But you learned to ignore the pain of the fire stoked in your chest, pushing through the legs of adults rather skillfully. Each shove you gave, a complaint would stir from the person, unable to catch your speedy form. People have begun to form a crowd around the old woman’s food stand despite the ungodly hour that it was.</p>
<p>Poor neighborhoods like yours weren’t given the luxury of a local garden, or animals to breed and sell. With no main food source, your family and everyone else fought and crowded any stand available.</p>
<p>Finally reaching the stand, you went around it to personally meet the old woman. She held a gentle smile and recognized you instantly, making her pause her transaction between a desperate man whose face scrunched at the interruption.</p>
<p>You blinked, unsure what face to make at the woman. “One, please,” you said innocently, offering her the coins. She hummed in approval and distanced herself from the counter as she returned to the impatient man. The space allowed you to retrieve a hidden basket of food before placing the money in the empty spot. You quietly thanked her and rushed off, the burning glares of hungry neighbors bore into you. All you could do was laugh smugly at their unfortunate situation before entering your rundown house.</p>
<p>Your mother was in the middle of organizing the most scarce items she could find. She stopped when you arrived, a smile graced her face as you lifted the heavy basket to her arms. Your panting didn’t go unnoticed so she offered you some water for your burning throat.</p>
<p>“Good job out there,” she praised after unveiling the draped cloth that covered the basket. It held bountiful bread and some spare fruits, more than what the woman typically offers to a regular customer. Thanks to your mother’s wits, she bartered for any item she desired for a lower price. Using you as an envoy, it was easy to con the old woman into giving you special privilege to her food before she runs out for the day.</p>
<p>“Didn’t run into any Mageseekers, did you?” You shook your head. Even if there was one nearby, you made sure that your trip was short and speedy enough to avoid their sights. They are people who sniff out magical traces in anybody belonging to Demacia. On behalf of the king’s court, they were established to quietly exile or rid of any mages lurking in their kingdom. They have yet to spot you, though. And you don’t plan on being caught.</p>
<p>“I’m heading to a town near Rocky Highlands,” she said, donning a satin cape around her shoulders for a more proper look. “Hopefully, I get to sell more than what I did yesterday.”</p>
<p>A merchant’s life was not easy, after all the experiences she has told you so far. “Can I come?” you begged.</p>
<p>She sighed but didn’t object when you started pulling her luggage towards the door. The journey to the town was relatively short since it was nearby. You were greeted by the open terrain; houses scattered about on open hills, their neighbors located many feet apart from each other. Flourishing gardens and farms were attached to each house, and you cringed at the fact that the slums were near a grand place like this.</p>
<p>A flat path is set before you, snaking through many curves to reach the center of the town. Your mother stopped abruptly, nearly making you tumble over one of the baskets. Looking up at her, she gave you a look you couldn't discern. That was when you realized that there were townsfolk actively moving around the outskirts. You spotted one in particular -- a woman with half of a golden mask. It looked to be shaped into the design of a mystical sun, and her sharp eyes burned whoever looked into them. A Mageseeker.</p>
<p>"I can handle it from here. Please, go back. Now." Your mother's stern voice paralyzed you instead of ushering you back home.</p>
<p>You felt a hand on your back spin and shove you towards the other direction. Before you could respond to her action, you blurted, "Okay." The disappointment in your voice made her frown.</p>
<p>"Run back home. Don't get caught, okay?" she planted a kiss on your forehead before shooing you away. "Be strong. I love you, little one."</p>
<p>You responded with mutual feelings; she kneeled so you can clutch her collar and give a chaste kiss on the cheek, "Okay, mommy."</p>
<p>She smiled, lifted herself up, and continued down the path with a lot more struggle from the extra weight of another luggage. You watched mischievously, deciding that she was far enough to proceed with your initiative. There was no way you could abandon the idea of exploring the area.</p>
<p>In order to avoid the townsfolk, you strayed from the path and rushed into the dense, prickly thicket. Leaves sharpened like blades sliced away at your brown tunic, making you grateful that the clothes covered every inch of your bare skin with a thick layer of protection. Your head could barely stay above the shrubs as you batted away the encroaching tendrils.</p>
<p>At last, leaves were recoiling to pave the way to a grey wall. Its concrete stood firm, filled with many intricate designs that symbolize Demacia’s high fortune. This was the border of Northern Demacia -- a high and strong wall that barricaded the residents, its feeling akin to the kingdom’s military might.</p>
<p>A contradicting thought entered your head, urging you to climb over it. You listened with a grin, hoisting yourself up on an evergreen tree. The bark that dug into your bare hands stung with wild pain, and you find yourself struggling to breathe. Slowly, you lifted an aching foot over an uneven spot, creating a somewhat steady platform for your next lift. You arrived at a sturdy branch, its thickness was more than enough to support your entire body weight. Wrapping yourself around it, you nervously calculated the distance between you and the flat brim of the barrier. Fortunately, not too far.</p>
<p>You leaped, and every strained muscle cried out in a cacophony of agony. To your shock, you landed with bent knees, nearly wobbling at your rough landing. You laughed it off, expecting a worse outcome.</p>
<p>You averted your attention to the sight in front of you -- slim forest trees stood straight, branches extending to its neighbors as if wanting to hold hands in harmony. Strange, fuzzy fruit hung from the canopy like stars. Sliding down the barrier to enter the new realm, your eyes widened at the bits of an emerging dawn shine through the foliage of leaves. The rays were delicate pink, disguising the forest in a mystical enchantment.</p>
<p>This was a view you had longed to see. You never ventured far out in the outside world due to your shackling burden of being a mage in Demacia. It robbed you of going to school and journeying far like what your mother does on occasion.</p>
<p>Sauntering around the slender trees, you noted a field of stalks near the end of the forest. It was likely a farm owned by a local farmer, but the closer you got, the more wide the field. Abandoned carts and strewn piles of hay littered the terrain; the stalks, you realized, curled inward with frail black spots as a rotten stench lingered. You nearly jolted at the sound of a crow calling from above, circling you with interest.</p>
<p>“They haven’t returned from the fields. It’s been three days.”</p>
<p>You twirled, searching for the sound of the muffled voice. Anxiety grew within you as you entered the large stalks to feel somewhat protected. The wind stood calm, and no trace of life stirred besides your frantic pacing and the crow. Despite the field’s unnerving miasma, it tempted you to delve further. Dried leaves would wipe your face, and you nearly gagged at its putrid scent.</p>
<p>“Help me!”</p>
<p>A voice reverberated, too close for your liking. Doing one last spin, you scouted that there was a tall figure in the middle of the stalks, looking over the forsaken land. It was a scarecrow, whose tattered cloth could only cover its head. The body is composed of mechanical parts, and one of its arms laid limp on the floor -- larger than its other arms. It had claws curling inward as if beckoning you to come closer. Its torso compared to a prisoner’s cage with black rot swirling inside it. You look to its head, its bird-shaped skull and empty sockets made you tremble. But you caught it just in time where its jaw was a little unhinged before it closed shut on its own. It had <em>moved</em>.</p>
<p>You rubbed your eyes in an attempt to dispel any weariness that was causing you to hallucinate. The scarecrow did not budge, even though its head was snapped into an uncomfortable angle. Approaching it with timid steps, your curious eyes scanned every inch of its horrendous form. A loose rope shaped like a slipknot choked its neck, various keys hanging from it. Were they for access to the stables and barns in this area? You were afraid to confirm your prediction.</p>
<p>“You’re weird.” The words blurted out of your mouth, despite the fear that is anchoring you in place. You eyed for any more suspicious movements, but more crows seem to bellow out in the skies above. “You’re like me.”</p>
<p>A crow landed on its shoulder, its glaring red eyes stared you down. Behind the crow was another dark figure that gleamed in the sunlight. Its edge is caked with dark grime, and you were unsure of what the substance is. Who equipped a scythe on a scarecrow?</p>
<p>Its arms were spread apart, besides its extra arm that laid limp on its platform. In one hand, it held a dim lantern that was outshone by the new dawn. You could only infer that the scarecrow served as both a guide and a warning to those who ventured out at night.</p>
<p>“I’ve never seen something like you before,” you admitted. “This place looks abandoned, are you in hiding too?”</p>
<p>Again, no response. Even the voices that you had heard earlier did not utter another word. A second crow landed behind its neck, its ebony talons tore at its cloth as the bird preened its own black plumage.</p>
<p>“Oh, I get it. Nobody likes you, right? Nobody likes me either,” you concluded. “This kingdom -- Demacia -- doesn’t like sorcery. They made this group called the Mageseekers to hunt down people like me. My mother told me I embodied a lot of magical energy. One day, I got really upset because I’ve been starving for three days, and then -- poof! -- a flame bursts out of my palm. Burned a big part of it too,” you rambled on before clamping your mouth at the presence above you. A maelstrom of crows looked down upon you with starving scowls.</p>
<p>“You have a lot of pet crows, Mr. Scarecrow,” you fumbled in the large pockets of your tunic, eventually claiming half of a piece of bread in your hands. “I know what it’s like to starve, and it doesn’t look like there’s much food around here. I’ve been saving this and eating it little by little, but I think the crows need it more. Hope they don’t mind three-day-old bread.”</p>
<p>You threw your food near the scarecrow, and suddenly the crows flock around it with throaty cries. Their sharp beaks and talons tore the bread apart with savagery, as if this wasn’t the first time they competed over food. As more crows manifested, you distanced yourself, watching before deciding to return to the border wall. Inside the flurry of birds, you swore you saw two red dots in those empty sockets.</p>
<p>_____________________________</p>
<p>“I was fine after that encounter, but then the fear finally settled within me and I fought off nightmares for nearly a moon. They’re returning to me again. I’m still not sure as to why,” you ended your tale. The roughhousing of the storm seemed to have trickled down, or you were becoming numb to the persistent battering of rain.</p>
<p>Your mother couldn’t coddle you during those times. Unfortunately, she passed away during one of her treks near the forest path. A group of bandits ambushed her and another tailing merchant, leaving them with fatal wounds. At least, that’s what your father told you. There was no way you could travel outside all alone without risking getting caught, so you couldn’t confirm it. Anger bubbled up inside you, wishing that you could entrap those bandits with your bare hands and scorch them to the bone. It was the result of your encounter and your mother’s death that left prolonging nightmares that ceased to end. Perhaps the trauma was resurfacing again, for no apparent reason.</p>
<p>Marcie shifted, her arms folded together across her chest. Her expression was pinched with indecipherable emotions, and you didn’t know what to suspect. “I believe you, however… there are some troubling plotholes -- such as Fiddlesticks not leaving you incapacitated? Not that I desire that outcome. And it’s strange he didn’t budge; I heard that he is extremely mobile,” she places a finger on her chin, “In any case, it sounds like you encountered an effigy of him rather than the real one.”</p>
<p>Your face contorted with anger, “But who would go through such lengths?! To own a large plot of land and to abandon it for trivial fear factor? Not in Demacia!” you pound your fists against the table, its oaken planks emitting a sharp squeal at your brunt force.</p>
<p>Silence hung over you, the only sound slicing the thick tension was the crackling of flames. Picking up your bowl, you headed to the kitchen. You passed by a window and stopped abruptly to notice a black feather snared in the windowsill. No reaction stirred within you.</p>
<p>You went to sleep.</p>
<p>It was another restless night. Your body began to sore due to the constant tossing and turning beneath your sheet. The thin layer of it did not prevent the creeping cold of the night to nibble your sensitive skin. A fruitless thought passed -- at least, you had a sheet. Better than none at all, your mother would say.</p>
<p>You drifted to sleep at some point. When you woke, you already heard sharp clinks in the kitchen -- an obvious sign that Marcie was already awake before you.</p>
<p>Gradually, you stepped down the stairs with a sluggish pace. A light drizzle seemed to be pouring outside, forcing your lips to tug into a frown. Though it was much better than last night, you were worried about Marcie's eventual trek.</p>
<p>You viewed her from the living room, her dark eyes heavily focused on assessing baskets of items. Eventually, she spoke, "I have to go out there today, even if it's raining. We can't afford to lose another day of food."</p>
<p>An annoyed grumble escaped your lips. She was right. Counting from the food that you two rationed, it could only last you and Marcie at least four days if properly distributed.</p>
<p>“How did you sleep?” she asked, a tinge of shrewdness evident in her voice.</p>
<p>Squinting, you replied with candor, “It was really cold. I couldn’t sleep much.”</p>
<p>Her lips etched into a thin line, “You should have told me. I would have let you sleep in my bed instead! Numbing coldness doesn’t do good to the body and mind.” Almost instantly, she shook her head, “Sorry, I’m just worried about your state. I really care about you, but I don’t know what to do to properly aid you.”</p>
<p>She must have also had a sleepless night as well; you noted the dullness in her eyes and voice. You bit your lip, trying to conjure an appropriate response to not upset her even more.</p>
<p>“It’s alright, Marcie. I really should have asked. For someone with fire magic, I should have been able to improvise.”</p>
<p>A small smile graced her face, “I rather you restrain yourself from trying. Knowing you, you’d find a way to set yourself on fire -- and my house.”</p>
<p>You were glad to be able to set a more lighthearted mood. While there was no doubt that you held some burden, Marcie held a lot more. Being a merchant was not easy, as you remember your mother’s intense persuasion skills that tried very hard to reel in potential buyers.</p>
<p>Marcie finally stepped out of the kitchen, a small, black cloak that covered her shoulders complimented her flowy beige dress. It held no visible signs of creases or wear, despite the number of times she used the same attire. She told you that she had to use her best clothes in order to impress the townsfolk; every little detail matters, especially upon the first impression.</p>
<p>Her arms were wrapped around multiple baskets, while small satchels hung loosely from her arms. “I saw some real cheap ponies the other day, near the outskirts of the border. There was a really pretty one -- an all-white mare. I was told her name’s Diamond. The man told me that just for me, he was willing to reduce the cost. So I might come home later than usual.”</p>
<p>You cocked a brow, “Wouldn’t you arrive sooner because you have a new ride?”</p>
<p>Marcie lets out a giggle, “I’d need to learn first! I’ve never handled a pony bef--” she suddenly jolts, as if she had been struck by lightning. “By the gods, I need to leave now! I won’t have time!” she scurried to the door, which you opened for her. You both exchanged your goodbyes before you were left to your own device.</p>
<p>Every time she leaves, you busied yourself with tomes; they were books filled to the brim with knowledge of sorcery. How Marcie was able to obtain these books in Demacia, you weren’t certain. The pages were filled with intricate details and pictures, both immersing and puzzling you. However, documentation about fire magic was latent; there was no trace whatsoever about channeling flames, despite the books reporting instances of obscurity like refracting light and so on.</p>
<p>The dawn has long passed, and you can see the sun slinking back into the horizon. The familiar rays that accompanied the dusk colored the skies in tangible orange and pink. It was a sight you always admired throughout your homebound life. It also dawned on you that Marcie has yet to return from her journey.</p>
<p>You suspected as much. Assuming she traveled beyond the border, she had to at least be making her way back by now.</p>
<p>A waning moon watched over the night skies; the stars were lost to the dark void, only a few remained with a gleaming pride. You tapped the tome impatiently, surveying the fireplace. Returning the dog-eared book back to its shelf, you impatiently kindled a fire of your own. The flame bursts from your palm, spreading to every inch of the logs. You recoiled at the slight burn and wiped away a single tear from the pain.</p>
<p>It was getting late. Too late.</p>
<p>Groaning, you hoped to the gods that Marcie hadn’t been scammed of a pony. If she was, she was sure to be relentless and persistent until she came to an appeasing resolution.</p>
<p>Now anxious, you paced around the room, deciding that the best course of action was to go to her location. Marcie did not provide exact details, but you felt like you were capable of finding her anyway.</p>
<p>Putting on a large overcoat to cover your skimpy, outgrown tunic, you barged out the door. By following the torches on the path, you found yourself edging closer to the border. Guards littered the area, frantically talking to one another. You winced, hesitating to speak to the Demacian military.</p>
<p>They weren’t Mageseekers, you told yourself. There was no need to worry.</p>
<p>Approaching them, you cleared your throat, capturing the attention of a small group. They bound towards you, and you felt the sweat drip to your neck. “Hey, border’s closed. We’re having trouble contacting one of the patrols. We suggest that you stray from here. Sally on, now.” One of the guards made a swatting gesture with his hand, convincing you to leave.</p>
<p>“My friend is out there still; she’s a merchant, good sir.”</p>
<p>“We have teams scouting the area,” his voice held an annoyed undertone, “I will be the first to let you know if we find her. Please, stay away from the gates.”</p>
<p>You nodded, hiding the bubbling anger from reaching your face. There was no choice but to use the old-fashioned route.</p>
<p>Entering the nearby thicket, you huffed as you scanned for a sturdy tree. Finding one, you heaved yourself on the bark and over the border wall with strong tenacity. You fell unceremoniously on the forest floor, and you felt a sharp blow to your hips from your clumsiness. Emitting a groan, you found the strength to finally stand.</p>
<p>The last time you’ve been here, you remembered the sense of ethereal beauty from the forest. But now that the night has stolen its beauty, you were left with dark trees that bowed at your presence. Branches unfurled, reaching out desperately to grab you unsuspectingly. The twigs resembled fingers -- or claws -- that extended to its fullest point, each tree competing to see who can trap you first.</p>
<p>There were no torches or visual aids to guide you through the darkness. As much as you feared them, you had to place your hands on the darkwood to maintain your sense of stability.</p>
<p>“Marcie?” you spoke, but you tried again louder. Still, the night brought silence.<br/>In the stillness of the night, you heard her voice ring your name. Instantly, you twirled around to locate the source.</p>
<p>“Marcie?!” you yelled, “Where are you, Marcie? It’s dark!”</p>
<p>You stopped the moment your eyes spotted the open field, the stalks loomed over your form. Placing a hand on your chest, you felt your heart beat sporadically. You refused to go in there again.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry!” You jumped at the wailing. There were sobs and fear trapped in her voice. She had to be in trouble. The issue is, you heard her inside the stalks.</p>
<p>Clearing your mind momentarily, you sprinted through the abandoned land. The dark stalks interfered with your sighting, and panic clouded your vision. “Marcie!” you screamed, hoping to get this nightmare over with.</p>
<p>You nearly tumbled over, almost crashing into a tall figure. Your heart nearly leapt out of your throat.</p>
<p>It was him. A familiar lantern hung from his twig arms, and tattered cloth-- no, wait. You warily got closer, eyeing the figure. There was no body mass at all -- only cloth and a bundle of sticks with a lantern. There was something definitely amiss.</p>
<p>“Little… light.” A new voice rasped out, something akin to someone’s dying breath. It sounded too clear, too close. Your eyes scouted the area, finding the familiar red pinpricks settled on you.</p>
<p>It was funny, really, because he looked exactly the same -- down to the curvature of his beak. But dread was brewing inside you and you were trying to pinpoint what exactly had you paralyzed like an idiot. Your face was drenched with beads of sweat, and the only thing you could truly feel was your heart attempting to blast out of your chest. You think you heard a crow or two.</p>
<p>His arms were spread apart, just like the way you had found him before many years ago. He held a lantern, brighter than the torches skirting the town.</p>
<p>You hadn’t realized how tall he really is.</p>
<p>Fiddlesticks is taller than the stalks, taller than the trees, taller than the border wall, taller than Marcie’s house. He is a scarecrow of impossible stature -- a mythical beast that only lived in legends. Why is he here? Why is he real? Even you refused to whole-heartedly believe in him.</p>
<p>But there he stood, lifting his slump head to face you directly. A horrifying moan drew from him as he cast aside his pair of arms to the ground, revealing another set, and another. Counting his limp arm, you were looking at a newfound seven of them.</p>
<p>He kept moaning and pushed his head back, his beak opening up to reveal rows and rows of sharp teeth. The tearing and snapping of seams were prolonged the more he unhinged his jaw. A long, pink tongue snuck out, splitting into tendrils. The red dots in his eye sockets disappeared momentarily, only to come back with a stronger glare.</p>
<p>“See?” he said, his words barely registering into your head, “It’s just a scarecrow.”</p>
<p>He dropped his lantern, the crash sent you out of your trance. Then, he drops all of his mechanical arms to the floor, making a mad sprint towards you with crows tailing behind.</p>
<p>Your legs pushed you before you could even signal it to do so. Your muscles screamed at the sudden adrenaline, begging for you to stop. You couldn’t, you didn’t. You delved deeper into the stalks, hoping to lose his biting teeth at your ankles. The sounds of crushed, dried leaves and torn roots followed suit, and you had to figure out a way to lose him, fast.</p>
<p>So your body reacted for you. Your breath hitched as you rolled to your left, your arms and legs folding inward to form a ball. The tough stems of the stalks still knocked you senseless through your meager protection, but you laid there with your eyes and mouth zipped shut. A strong burst of wind pelted past you, nearly making you tumble even further. A smile of relief formed on your face; Fiddlesticks had sprinted past you.</p>
<p>Wasting no time, you got on your feet despite the protest of your muscles, and began heading in the opposite direction of where Fiddlesticks was currently at.</p>
<p>A scream broke out, “Where are you?! I can’t see you!” he called out with boiling anger. “I can’t… see… you!”</p>
<p>You silently paved your way through the stalks, hoping to find the exit. Crows were circling the field, their eyes glowered to find any speck of you.</p>
<p>You began to realize that you didn’t know Fiddlesticks at all. Not even when you met him as a child, not even in the countless renditions of the tales. Nobody knew what he really is, or what he could really do. Even though Marcie had warned you of his inhumane speed, you were not prepared for it at all. He was an elusive being -- totally unpredictable. Even though you had put some distance between you two, you were absolutely terrified that he would be waiting at the border wall, taunting you all this time.</p>
<p>The stalks were becoming less and less dense until finally, you reached the end of the maze. Crows squawked above, revealing your location. A string of curses left your lips, forgetting about the damned birds. Not willing to look back, you gave into another dash into the forsaken forest. Yet, your eyes betrayed you out of mild curiosity.</p>
<p>Glancing back, the huge figure of the scarecrow emerged, his scythe slashing through the stalks. A high-pitched scream left his throat, “Don’t leave me!” he lunged forward.</p>
<p>Out of instinct, you stopped and held up your hands. A rash choice came to mind, but you didn’t have time to find another decision. His arms and legs outmatched your own.</p>
<p>Large bursts of flame launched out of your palms, the excess fire coiling around your arms. Tears streamed down your cheeks at the overbearing pain as you gritted your teeth. Fire was spreading everywhere, blocking everything out of your sight.</p>
<p>You decided to stop and rushed to the border, eventually reaching it without a presence behind you. You didn’t bother to check this time.</p>
<p>Arriving home, you locked the door and flung yourself in the kitchen. Your body hunched over the sink and you gripped on any tomatoes you can find, squashing it and spreading the acidic juice all over your hands and arms. Marcie barely had medicine, and there was no aid for burns in the house. The burn stung intensely, even with the cooling of the tomato juice, but it was all you were able to do for now.</p>
<p>You spent the next few days assessing your burns. The skin turned into a mixture of red and pink -- its rawness preventing you from even moving your fingers. You scavenged Marcie’s room, finding a pair of thin, black gloves to use for outside trips. You went to the same food stand that the old woman still had; she recently passed the business to her daughter, but it seemed that the old woman let her family know of your special circumstance. Yesterday, you had passed by the border gates to meet up with the guards, who informed you of the devastation left in the abandoned field. Flames, they said, licked at every tree and stalk in sight and it had spread dangerously fast before they could put it out. There was also no sign of Marcie at all either.</p>
<p>You asked if there were any remains, but they shook their head and said that they could only find leftovers of what appeared to be a scarecrow.</p>
<p>Mageseekers quickly adopted the story and claimed that the fire was the work of magic. They calculated the source of the fire, stating that it was both unprecedented and abnormal for a fire to start on its own. You could only scoff at their resilience to pin the blame on mages for anything.</p>
<p>Though you left the gates that day without Marcie, you were at least glad at the news. Fiddlesticks is dead. He didn’t plague your mind anymore, and Marcie’s feather bed had lulled you to a good night’s rest.</p>
<p>You’ve awoken in the middle of the night, hearing the fumbling of a key in the front door. You immediately thought of an intruder, but the only people who had a key were you and Marcie.</p>
<p>Surprised at the revelation, you sprinted barefoot to the door, awaiting the return of your friend. The door opened slowly, revealing the unscathed body of Fiddlesticks with Marcie’s key on his slipknot. He grinned at your shocked expression.</p>
<p>How did he cross the border? How did he not get scorched? How did he know where you lived?</p>
<p>He was too tall to enter, so he crawled and stood mere inches in front of you. As if reading your thoughts, he announced, “I remember… you. My crows… stalked you tirelessly. I was waiting… for you.” He struggled to say the words, taking in slow breaths.</p>
<p>“I-I don’t understand. Why?” you backed away, your eyes trained on him. Thinking about channeling your magic made your hands howl in agonizing pain. “You haunted me for so long, please leave me alone.”</p>
<p>He took out his scythe and held it behind your neck, restraining you from backing up even more. A short cackle escaped his mouth as he pinned you down with one of his hands.</p>
<p>“Anything... that crosses my field,” his head leaned forward, allowing you to absorb every feature -- every tooth, each sprouted feather on the back of his head, and those two red dots in his sockets, “belongs to… <em>me.</em>”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fiddlesticks (c) Riot Games</p></blockquote></div></div>
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